DIARY OF A VAMPIRE

              The first snow had fallen. I watched each flake with disgust. I hate the winter in Buffalo. Some say it’s beautiful. I see only mud and slush in the streets, black ice, and cars mangled together along side the road every five miles or so. Winter brings thoughts of death and destruction. I see no beauty in it.

         I sighed as I looked out the second floor window of my studio apartment. Another cold day in the city of the damned. I took a deep breath and threw on my winter jacket and hat, and preparing myself for another shitty day at a dead-end job. I work as an accountant’s assistant. My job consists of filing endless papers with random names and numbers I don’t give a shit about.

         I pushed my way through the front door of JPR and Associates and began my daily routine. I shook the snow off of my jacket and hung it in the small makeshift closet to my right. I shoved my hat into the right sleeve, just like my mother had me do when I was a child. I guess some habits never die. I slumped my shoulders and drudgingly walked toward the coffee machine. I, like many of my fellow colleagues, needed a pick-me-up in the morning. Caffeine does the trick for me. It’s my drug of choice.

         After downing three cups of black coffee, I finally made my way to my desk in the back corner of the office. Shit, I hate this job. My boss says I’m an exceptional worker though. How the fuck would he know? He talks to me twice a day.
         “Morning Will!” He always had that fake smile plastered on his face.

         “’Night Will!” Same smile. Oh yeah, did I mention my name’s William, not Will? Will just sounds so childish, like Willie. William sounds mature and important. It’s a good mask to wear.

         The day dragged on like normal. Two hours had gone by and I hadn’t even finished the paperwork on the first client yet. I am so going to get my ass fired. I just don’t feel like I should rush when I have nothing else to do for the rest of the day.

         I heard the front door open. “Miss Desiree!” my boss exclaimed. I could hear his fake smile from a mile away. I peaked around the corner of my cubby-hole to see who had just walked in. I didn’t know any Miss Desiree. Maybe it was a new client.

         When I saw the beauty that was talking to my boss, I almost creamed my pants. Miss Desiree had a radiance like a full moon on a starless night. Her hair was black as midnight, right before a storm, and her body was thin but strong. Her small supple breasts shone through a sheer black corset.Her legs went on for miles before they reached a short maroon-colored mini-skirt that would make any mother cover the eyes of her child.

         I continued to drool over Miss Desiree for at least ten minutes. I watched her fluid movements with longing and lust. It seemed as if each movement was deliberately performed in a slow and seductive manner. When she left the office, I snapped back to reality. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t need a woman in my life at the moment. How would I take care of a woman when I couldn’t even support myself? But for some reason, and not just her lack of clothing, as you may be thinking, I felt strongly attracted to this woman. There was something in her eyes that burned into my soul. I felt connected and drawn to her.

         As the day went on, I found myself thinking constantly about the mysterious "Miss Desiree". Before I knew it, it was five o’clock. My daydreaming had paid off. Time to go home. I couldn’t believe the time had flown by so quickly. I strode to the closet and threw on my jacket and hat as quickly as I could. I was longing for a hot shower and a cold beer. Or maybe what I really needed was a cold shower. I walked hurriedly past my boss’ desk toward the front door.

         “William.” I could hear the annoyance in my boss’ voice. Wait a minute. He had called me William. Not Will? Fuck, I must be in some sort of trouble. Shit! Shit! I can’t afford to get fired. As I inched my way to my boss’ desk I racked my brain trying to figure out what I had done. Or what I didn’t do.

         “Miss Desiree left this for you.” My boss handed me an envelope and gave me a look from the corner of his eye. I knew he was curious, but I was even more curious. I had never even met Miss Desiree before today. Actually, I didn’t even meet her today. I just gawked at her the entire time she was in the office.

         I grabbed the letter out of his hands. It might have seemed rude, but at the moment I didn’t care. I just wanted to know what was in the damned envelope. I said thanks and rushed home as fast as I could. I almost landed on my ass twice slipping on the icy sidewalk.

         I opened the envelope as soon as I walked into my apartment. I didn’t even bother removing the snow covered jacket or hat. A strange scent was emitted from the envelope. It was a mix between spicy sex and murder. I will never forget that smell. Suddenly I felt dreary, like I had just gotten high and didn’t have any motivation, or want, to move. My fingers slid inside the envelope and produced a letter scrawled on thick, flesh colored paper.

         Dearest Mr. Mason,
I have been watching you. You are exactly what I have been
looking for. Please meet me at Temptation tonight at 11:30 exactly. I’ll
be waiting.
                                                                                         Love Always,                                                            Miss Desiree

         The letter was written in some deep red ink that gave me the impression of blood. No, I thought to myself, it couldn’t be. Thoughts raced through my mind. Should I meet her? What does she want with me? How does she know me? Who the hell cares? I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to meet her. What’s the worst that could happen? For some reason, I think this is going to be one wild night.




         After a long walk through the city, over the rusted railroad tracks, past make-shift tents strewn along the edges, I finally reached my destination: Temptation. It was 11:15pm. I had fifteen minutes before I would meet Miss Desiree.

         Temptation was on the outskirts of the city. This gothic night club was once a beautiful Victorian mansion. Now, the windows were boarded with hundred-year-old planks that were rotted and black with age. The club had an eerie feel to it. The combination of loud, sexual music and the appearances of barely dressed guests made me feel a little uneasy. I was definitely overdressed, with my black dress pants and tight black t-shirt.

         My mind started to wander as I sat down on the front steps, holding my head. What was I doing here? This was a big mistake.

                Miss Desiree crept into my thoughts like a snake sneaking up on its prey. Her seductive nature lured me to her. I felt her delicate yet powerful hands caressing my body. Her blood red lips parted and inched their way closer to mine. Her tongue slid across my bottom lip. I felt chills shock through my body. I was both excited and terrified. I wanted her. I wanted to be one with her. Her eyes locked on mine as she traced her tongue along my jaw line, and in one quick motion she threw her head forward and sunk her teeth into my neck.

              I choked out a scream of pain. My body twitched and convulsed. I couldn’t stop shaking. 

              “Hey, are you alright?” A hand was shaking me. I startled and realized I was draped across the front steps of Temptation. I was embarrassed to find that my member was trying to protrude through my slacks. I pulled my jacket over myself to hide my huge embarrassment.

              “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Thanks.” Words stumbled out of my mouth.
I began to relax. I had just been day dreaming. Or would you call it night dreaming? I scanned the crowd of people that had congregated in front of Temptation waiting to get in. My eyes locked on a still figure in the back. As if in slow motion she walked through the crowd toward me. Miss Desiree was watching me with her seductive eyes. My hand flew directly to my neck, remembering my night dream, searching for any type of wound. When I found that there was none, my heart relaxed a bit, that is, until Miss Desiree advanced toward me.

              The heels of her knee-high, lace-up boots clicked on the sidewalk, echoing through the sleeping city. My eyes slid up past her corset that was tied so tightly I was surprised she could breather. My eyes reached her lips. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Then our eyes locked.

              “Do you know how to make time stand still?” Miss Desiree cooed into my ear with an accent resembling that of a French poetess.

              I just stared. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t answer.

            “Don’t look away,” she whispered.

            I couldn’t avert my eyes. I felt trapped. I was being pulled into a dark place within this beautiful and deadly woman. And in some ways, I wanted to be there.



*(Need something here...don't know what yet. Suggestions welcome.)*




          “Willie, honey, maybe you should see a doctor.”

          “It’s William, Mom. And I’m telling you, that’s exactly what happened. I’m not imagining anything.”

            I have always told my mom everything. It was only me and her since I can remember. She said my father left us when I was two for some other woman. Go figure. Mom had worked three jobs to support us. I know it sounds cliché, but my mom is my best friend. We go on vacations together. We have lunch at least two times a week, and every Sunday we go shopping. Today was Shopping Sunday as we liked to call it.

          “Well, stranger things have happened, Mom.”

          “Like what?”

          “Like Big Foot and the ghosts you say are in your attic. And FYI, Bigfoot isn’t real.”

          “That’s what you think.” She smiled at me and winked.

          Why on earth my mom could believe in things like Bigfoot and ghosts, but not lost time and vanishing women is beyond me. But, maybe Bigfoot does exist. Maybe ghosts are real. And maybe I do need to see a doctor. You can never tell what is real anymore.

          “So, Willie, where do you want to go today? The mall?”

          “Mom, how many times do I have to tell you? My name is William. Remember? You named me.”

          “Actually, your father named you. I never really liked the name. I don’t see why you want to be called William anyways. It makes you sound like an old man.”

          “Because I’m an adult, and I can have people call me whatever I want.”

          “Well, I’m an adult too. And I don’t like being called Mom. I want you to call me Sophia from now on.”

          “I’m not calling you Sophia, Mom.”

          “Then I’m not calling you William. Now, let’s go to the mall.”

          “We go to the mall every Sunday.”

          “That’s right. It’s a tradition now. I don’t want to mess with tradition.”

          “Okay, well it’s almost noon. We better get going then.”

          “Willie. Wait a minute.”

          “Yeah.”

          “Let’s take the bus today. I feel a little shaky to be driving.”

          “Okay. Let me get some change. Are you alright to go today?”

          “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

          Mom and I spent three hours at the mall. She bought a new pair of sneakers at Finish Line, three shirts and a pair of jeans at Sears, and a new pair of scissors at Joanne Fabric. I bought a journal at Waldenbooks. That was it. Just a blank journal. My apartment must have at least fifty blank journals sitting around by now. I always buy them, but never know what to write. Or I’ll write on the first page, decide what I wrote is shit, and never pick the damned thing up again. There is just something about a new journal that calls to me. Maybe it’s the sound of the spine cracking when you open it. Or maybe it’s the perfectly blank pages, waiting to be written upon. Waiting for some brilliant insight into life. Whatever it is, I spend way too much money on the damned things never to write in them. Maybe I’ll start today. I’ll buy a new journal today and start writing right when I get home. Or maybe I’ll start with the next one I buy.

          If I keep this up, I’ll never start to write. No one will ever know my thoughts and experiences. No one will ever know me. Maybe that’s my problem. I don’t want them to.



*(Need something here too...again, suggestions welcome)*





          I hate Mondays. The word itself is depressing. The beginning of a long week of work. You know, maybe if I had graduated from college I might be an accountant right now, and not a lame assistant. But if I was an accountant, would I be just as unhappy? Hell if I know. I guess that's one of life's mysterious questions that are never answered.

          When I dragged myself out of bed this morning I had this really weird craving. It was like I was hungry and thirsty at the same time. But when I drank some OJ and ate a bowl of cereal to try to kill the craving, it just got worse.
I opened the fridge and stood there for at least ten minutes trying to figure out what the hell I was hungry for. I think cravings are what are making this country fat. Not fast food chains like McDonalds and Burger King, although they sure do help. It’s the damned cravings that make you want fast food in the first place. After standing in front of the fridge, opening and closing all the cupboards, even though you know exactly what food you have in the house, you finally get pissed off enough and say screw it. I’ll get a double cheeseburger, a ten piece nugget with barbeque sauce, a large fry, and a large diet coke. Of course you wouldn’t get regular coke. It’s bad for you.

            So, as I was standing there, thinking about what to order at McDonalds, when I saw a nice juicy piece of stake in the back of the fridge. I forgot I had put it there last night to thaw.

          I didn’t care what time it was in the morning. 3 am for all I cared. I really wanted a stake before I went to work. I put the steak on a pan, doused it in A1 sauce, and put it in the broiler.

          I was in a rush, so I let it cook about three minutes on each side. People eat barely cooked meat all the time. Right? I took the steak out of the broiler and put it on a plate. I stuck my finger in it to make sure it was warm. My knife slid through it like butter. Pink blood and juices swarmed around the steak.  It was a little undercooked, but I was in a hurry. I closed my eyes and took a bite. The meat and juices swished around in my mouth. Before I knew it, the steak was gone, and I had more energy than I’d ever had in my life. And my craving was gone.
Maybe I should write a book. I could make a shit load of money off of it. What would I call it? I got it. Kill Your Craving and Eat It Too.